Crushed
by Wendy Brune
Summary: Voldemort reflects upon the one girl he's ever been attracted to. Not exactly a romance.


**Crushed: A One Shot**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The only thing I own is the characters I have invented myself and the plot lines I have created._

He had always had a soft spot for Elle MacChester.

Well, not exactly. To use the term would be to imply that he possessed a heart, a muscle that even as a young boy he was noticeably devoid of. Perhaps it would be better to say that he had always admired her, though even that would be a stretch, for he was superior to everyone and looked up to no one.

_The night is dark, the wind fierce. Only a few meters away is a cottage, with all the lights dim. He hears the crunch of dead leaves beneath his feet, and wonders if they can hear it too. _

Lounging by the lake with her golden brown curls gleaming in the sunlight, the blue ribbons that tied up her trademark low pigtails streaming in the wind, this was the sharpest memory he had from Hogwarts, one of the few that remained. Her beauty was impassable; her wit and charm unmatchable. Teachers doted on her, first years looked up to her. Seemingly, she was the only girl even close to being worthy of the heir.

_He reaches the door; the time is now._

Such attributes almost made up for her biggest flaw. Almost.

She was a Ravenclaw. Which yes, was a decidedly better label than Gryffindor, but all the same, she was not Slytherin. Her house was a taint upon her name, the one thing that kept him from her for so long.

_A flash of white light, and the door is open. A man rushes into the room, a look of startled confusion on his face. Pausing, he realizes she has married. _

But he watched her. How could he not? Though he clearly cared for no one, he was still a male; he still had urges, desires, instincts.

Understandably, she attracted the hearts of almost all the boys she'd ever met. Though far stupider than he, even they were able to notice her graceful step, her shinning eyes, and her curvy figure. Like flies drawn to honey, they never gave up, despite her numerous rebuttals.

But then neither did she.

_No matter. A flash of green light, and the one called husband is dead. _

For every offer of courtship she received, she supplied the same answer.

No, thank you.

And he was surprised. Although he was able to see the inferiority of others, there were quite of few males that those beneath him had deemed as desirable. Stupid, the whole lot of them, but capable of making many silly girls swoon. Daniel Littlefield, Brant Hyatt, and the rest came and went, but still she rejected them.

Despite the Ravenclaw taint on her name, she had a spirit and a dignity he had seen unmatched in any other. She never swayed, but remained headstrong.

And he began to wonder.

_Suddenly, she runs into the room, confusion on her face. She sees him; confusion turns to fear. And she is every bit as beautiful as before. _

It was a warm summer day, near the end of the term in his seventh and final year when he decided to make his move. As in the memory ingrained in his head, she was laying out beside the lake, studying for finals.

Was he worried? Absolutely not. Despite her record, for she had never accepted one of her many suitors for so much as a date, he knew it would be different. He was different. After all, he was the most handsome man at Hogwarts, with his jet black hair and dark eyes; more than one silly girl had attempted to slip a love potion into his pumpkin juice. He knew how others saw him; poor, poor orphan Tom Riddle, with no parents, and yet oh so brave and intelligent. A reputation based on farce, of course, but despite her intelligence, even she had to be fooled by his act.

And he was heir to the greatest wizard who had ever lived. Of course, no one knew such a fact (_yet_), but still, his superiority oozed from him, an aura that influenced others. How could she be an exception?

He approached her, his mind clear of any frets.

How could she say no?

_She drops to her knees, tears in her eyes, either for the fallen man or her life, he knows not which. The time is now, it is unavoidable. Her name has shown up on a list of dissenters; she must be terminated. He raises his wand. _

"Why, hello there, Elle," he said, pretending to only just notice her. His voice rang out confidently, that of a man who knows his status.

She looked up from her book, a surprised smiled on her face. "Oh, hello, Tom."

"What are you reading? Can I help?" he asked, sitting crossed legged beside her, politeness simpering in his voice. He glanced at the title: _N.E.W.T Level Muggle Studies, Vol XXVI._

For a moment he was lost. A white hot rage burned through his head, and he was blinded by his fury. _Muggles. _His teeth clinched, his fists tightened. _Muggles._

And then it was over, and he was calm again. His momentary lapse had gone unnoticed; she was still smiling at him with those glorious bright green eyes. He paused to reconsider, doubting his judgment for the first time since he could remember.

"Oh, no, it's dreadfully boring," she replied to his question. "My mother insists I complete the course, however. Something about the more NEWTs the better." She flashed him another smile and returned to her book.

He studied her for a moment, taking in her body. She was near perfect. With her on his arm, he would steal the desire of all his peers. Even though he knew he was the best, everyone would finally have to acknowledge it too. It was worth it.

"Say, Elle," he began, his voice rich with self-assurance. She looked up at him again, eyes searching his face. "Let me make you a better offer then. I have box-seat tickets for the Puddlemere United match the week after exams. Care to join me?" Even though he never formed an interest in Quidditch, he knew such a date was the perfect choice. He could flaunt his power with his box seats, the envy of all around him. She would be impressed.

He waited, giving her a cocky smile.

And then it happened.

"Oh. No, thank you."

_Yet he hesitates. This girl, this woman, kneeling in front of him. Could she not be of use…?_

Reflecting later, he was surprised to find that her rebuttal did not anger him so nearly much as he thought. Yes, it was a stupid mistake on her part, and she was an insolent girl. Yet somehow, her defiance only heightened his regard for her. That by will she could refuse a being so great as he, well, it had to mean something.

She was a challenge. A wild horse that needed to be tamed. To be broken.

It wasn't too long that he became absorbed in his quest for power, for earning what should have been bestowed upon him at birth. She faded into the back of his mind, and he did not see her again. Not until…

_A plan begins to formulate. What if…?_

She was headstrong, yes, and insolently refused him that long time ago beside the lake. But what if he fulfilled the vision he'd once had, of her on his arm? What couldn't she do for him? Perhaps her beauty and charm could capture the hearts of his enemies, leading them to change sides. She could be the perfect politician's wife. And the jealousy she would create…

"_I give you one option, Elle MacChester," he begins, secretly unsure just when he decided to follow his plan. "If you choose, you may die a horrible death by the hands of Lord Voldemort for your revolts." He hesitated. "Or, you may accept the most blessed honor you have ever had bestowed upon you in your life. You may become Lord Voldemort's wife, and live as his lady with the knowledge that very few are more powerful than you."_

He didn't need her to be victorious, of course. He could earn domination all on his own. But still, she could be a powerful weapon that might even slightly speed up the process.

"_I accept wholeheartly, my Lord," she weeps, looking up at him with feeble eyes. "I will do whatever you wish, so long as you spare my life. Please."_

And with her pathetic pleas, the spell was broken. This was not the Elle he once knew at Hogwarts. This was a weak and useless woman, clearly inferior to he. The one who was worthy of him would have still refused, instead of pleading in the face of death.

She was tamed.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _


End file.
